Chapter 35 And what about him? He was still…

After the crowd dispersed, Zheng Xiaotian was the last to leave. He walked to her table, glanced down at her, and said casually but with a hint of seriousness, "You're... a little sharper than usual today."

Xia Zhiyao said calmly, "That's because I didn't get enough sleep."

Zheng Xiaotian stared at her for two seconds, looking like he understood perfectly: "Then let's leave work early today."

She didn't answer, but lowered her eyes and opened another document, as if those words had never happened. But just as he turned around, she suddenly spoke: "Zheng Xiaotian."

He turned around: "Hmm?"

Without raising her head, she said softly, "Don't you think that sometimes when people are too clear-headed, they end up living too tiring a life?" She slowly raised her head, her eyes indifferent, as if she had just casually uttered a meaningless statement.

Zheng Xiaotian was stunned: "What triggered you this time?"

“Take a break when you’re tired,” he said, “but don’t push yourself to the point where you don’t even have the energy to dream.”

She stared at him for a long time without saying a word. Then she lowered her head and hid those words, along with her brief moment of vulnerability, back between the turning pages.

The sun was shining brightly outside the window, and the streets were bustling with traffic. The glass of the tall buildings in the distance reflected a blinding white light.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the night in New York is quietly falling.

Zhou Yue was on the sofa at home, the television playing some unknown program, which made the weariness in his eyes even more apparent. He leaned back in his chair, his shoulders slumped slightly, as if weighed down by an invisible weight.

Outside the window, snow began to fall again. Winter in New York always arrives unexpectedly.

He raised his hand to take off his glasses, his slender fingers slowly pressing against his brow, his breath carrying a hint of weariness.

Snowflakes gently clung to the French windows, turning into a thin, cold mist. He looked out through the glass that kept out the chill; the city's neon lights flickered in and out of sight in the snowy fog, like floating lighthouses, or signals of a lost and adrift city.

For some reason, he suddenly remembered a year ago, on a night just like this, the snow was falling heavily, the world was white, and he and Xia Zhiyao were kissing in the snow, their breaths were cold, but their lips were warm.

Her fingers were icy cold, but her breath was as hot as fire in the wind. He remembered the snow in her hair, the taste of alcohol on her lips, and the scent of jasmine mixed with other floral and musky perfume when she was close.

They kissed under the dim streetlights as snow fell silently, and he clearly remembered how hopelessly and intensely he wanted her at that moment.

It wasn't just a simple desire, but a longing and dependence that could almost tear a person apart. From that night on, it cleaved an unhealable rift in his heart, like an undercurrent that still traps him to this day.

He once thought that time and distance could smooth everything over, but now, on another snowy night, another winter when he was working overtime alone, memories fell silently like snowflakes, covering the world before his eyes, light and inconspicuous, yet enough to completely overwhelm him.

He began to feel anxious again; his fingertips trembled slightly, his stomach tightened, and his heart suddenly raced, spreading erratically through his veins. He closed his eyes, his throat tightened slightly, and his breathing became shallow and labored.

Over the past few months, he heeded Lu Zhiwei's advice and went for psychological therapy on time. The doctor said that he was a typical case of "externalized anxiety," where his out-of-control emotions always needed to be vented through work, sex, or other activities, as if only in this way could he regain that little bit of control.

The doctor also said that he had been avoiding the issue. But his condition had indeed improved: at least he was able to sleep for four or five hours a night, and at least when sudden emotions struck, he could resist making phone calls, acting impulsively, and letting himself completely lose control.

However, tonight, the unexpected heavy snowfall almost shattered all his efforts in an instant.

The white world was like a reflection of his memories, pushing him back to that night he could never return to. Zhou Yue took off his glasses and put them back on, his fingers trembling slightly as he gripped the frames. He leaned back on the sofa, his chest tightening, as if he were trapped in the middle of an endless snowfield, surrounded by the sound of cold winds, with no way out.

Just then, his phone vibrated on the table. The moment the screen lit up, Zhou Yue subconsciously adjusted his glasses. The sender was his half-brother, Jiang Qiran.

"Bro, I got my offer from Columbia University!"

He then sent a screenshot showing a familiar school and admission letter, exactly the same as his own from back then.

He leaned back in his chair, the light from the screen reflecting on his face, making his already thin features appear even more pale.

He stared at the words for a long time, as if he were looking at something that had nothing to do with him.

Congratulations!

He slowly typed these words, thinking he would be happy, after all, his brother coming to New York was something to celebrate, but his emotions were mixed with a strange bitterness and a sense of unease.

He suddenly realized that this might be a respectable reason for leaving.

A sufficient reason to explain it to the outside world: "My younger brother came to study in New York, and my phase of mission is almost over."

A single, watertight sentence can cover up the real reasons he wanted to leave: loneliness, the lack of love to rely on, and the regret and helplessness after waking up from one dream after another.

In those years, he always told himself to stay, at least until the right opportunity came, and now, the opportunity has arrived.

He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling, holding his phone in his hand. His fingertips lingered on the screen for a long time before he finally tapped on the page he had been reluctant to delete but had been hesitant to touch.

Xia Zhiyao's WeChat Moments.

She didn't block or mute him, but that's precisely the most fatal thing she did. She did nothing, yet she completely shut him out of her life.

The latest announcement is from Tianxing Fanglue: 【A new beginning, thank you for the past.】

The accompanying picture shows Tianxing's conference room, where he stares at the words on the screen with a barely warm smile on his lips.

Scrolling down, you see a forwarded article from three months ago, an industry report; further down, a transcript of a conference. In the photo, she stands on the podium, light falling on her profile, highlighting her features, her expression calm, like a calm sea visible through glass.

And then, that was it.

There are no fragments of life, no emotional fluctuations, and no emotional clues that can be guessed.

She kept her life too well-hidden, as if deleting all files related to vulnerability, leaving only a rational, successful, and impeccable version.

It was like a PR statement, blatantly declaring to everyone who had ever come close to her, especially him: "You are no longer important."

Zhou Yue stared at the photo, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Others saw her confidence and composure, but he knew it was just her most skillful disguise.

He had seen her break down, on a snowy night, wearing only a thin coat, her eyes red and her words incoherent.

In her most vulnerable moment, she trembled as she called his name and kissed his cheeks haphazardly, as if clinging to the last rope.

But now, it's as if those moments never happened. She casually turns the page, erasing the emotional storm and him along with it.

He suddenly wondered what time she got off work every day, where she lived, whether she had insomnia, and whether she still couldn't resist eating sweets.

Will he one night, like he is now, stare at a dialog box, his finger hovering over it, deleting, rewriting, and deleting again?

But he knew nothing. She had completely stripped him from his life, without looking back or offering any explanation, leaving him alone, trying to piece together the shadow she had left behind.

He thought he had let go, but now he knew cruelly that he still hated her, hated her calmness, hated her decisiveness, hated her ruthlessness and lack of leeway when she turned away.

He resented her for dumping all her emotions on him alone. Those sleepless nights, the suffocating anxiety attacks, the nights spent sitting on the floor, gasping for breath—he endured it all alone. She never looked back.

And what about him? The most terrifying thing is that he hates her, yet he also loves her.

I love her aloofness, I love the way she pretends to be strong even with red eyes when she says "I'm fine," I love the stubbornness hidden beneath all her vulnerability. I love her so much that even my hate is tinged with pain.

This love made him feel ashamed, yet he was powerless to save himself.

He wanted to get closer to her, to confirm whether she was truly good or just pretending. He wanted to know if there was even the slightest chance that she would remember him, that she would think of him, even if it was just a tiny bit.

He knew she might no longer need him.

But he just wanted to see her, even if he was rejected, it would be better than being trapped in an endless wait day after day.

The screen suddenly vibrated; a schedule reminder popped up—7:30 PM, dinner with Zheng Yaotian.

Tonight, he is to meet Zheng Yaotian, the head of Zhengyuan Guanlan, a regular on the list of China's top richest people, who controls a vast empire spanning finance, energy, and real estate.

Zheng Yaotian is the kind of person who sits at the negotiating table, doesn't say much but hits the nail on the head with every word, and acts with a ruthless efficiency.

This meal was scheduled for him long ago. On the surface, it had nothing to do with the project; it was just that Zheng Yaotian had invited him out for a chat in a private capacity.

Zhou Yue knew perfectly well that a company of Zhengyuan Guanlan's caliber wouldn't engage in casual conversation outside of work for no reason. Private dinners were simply a convenient way to discuss matters not written into the contract.

The car drove into Manhattan's Upper East Side and stopped at a low-key private clubhouse that is usually only open to the inner circle and specific families.

When I pushed open the door to the private room, appetizers were already laid out on the table, with steam rising gently from the porcelain plates.

Zheng Yaotian smiled slightly: "I specially invited a chef who can cook Beijing cuisine today. I heard that you've been in New York for a long time and must miss the taste of home."

Zhou Yue sat down, his gaze sweeping across the table: braised duck slices, braised sea cucumber with scallions, Kung Pao chicken, and deep-fried meatballs. Next to him was a roast duck with a deep reddish-brown color, served with thin pancakes, scallions, and sweet bean sauce. In the corner sat a bowl of lamb spine soup, steaming and carrying a rich aroma.

"This setup is quite elaborate," he chuckled.

They ate and chatted, discussing everything from the latest developments in New York's financial circles to several emerging investment hotspots in China, their conversation oscillating between relaxed and tentative.

"Can I have a drink?" Zheng Yaotian suddenly looked up, his tone casual.

“Of course.” Zhou Yue put down his chopsticks, his expression remaining calm.

An assistant brought over a heavy bottle of Moutai, saying, "It's not easy to get this here." He unscrewed the cap, and the aroma of the sauce instantly filled the entire private room.

Zhou Yue took the wine glass, gently rubbing his fingertips against the glass, and said with a faint smile, "Then thank you very much for your kindness, President Zheng."

The wine glasses clinked lightly in mid-air, revealing a subtle sharpness. The Moutai went down his throat, carrying the familiar spiciness and lingering sweetness. Zhou Yue narrowed his eyes slightly.

Zheng Yaotian asked casually, "Actually, I rarely ate Peking duck in Beijing. Now that you're here, do you crave it?"

Zhou Yue took it, lowered his head and took a bite, the corners of his mouth curving up: "You're right, where in New York can you find such authentic flavor?"

"Do you miss home?" Zheng Yaotian asked casually, but his words landed between the drinks and the conversation, like a stone tossed out at random.

Zhou Yue looked up, his smile undiminished: "Occasionally, I guess."

The fat from the roast duck gleamed golden under the light, steam rose from the thin pancakes, and the sweet bean sauce in the dipping sauce was intensely fragrant.

Zheng Yaotian smiled and said, "I heard you mention before that you were planning to return to China. Why don't you consider coming here and giving it a try?"

Zhou Yue looked up, a hint of inquiry in his eyes. Before he could speak, Zheng Yaotian continued, "I'm a straightforward person and don't like beating around the bush. The development in China is no worse than Wall Street, and there are even more opportunities. Besides, your family is all in China, so you won't have to drift around alone abroad."

He paused here, seemingly unintentionally, yet also intentionally: "To be honest, I know your father too. We've crossed paths on some occasions before. He's given me a lot of advice."

Zhou Yue slowly put down his chopsticks, gently stroking the cup with his fingertips, and chuckled softly: "President Zheng, you flatter me."

“It’s admiration.” Zheng Yaotian raised his glass, but his eyes didn’t fully light up with a smile. “With your background and skills, you’d be good in New York, but you might not lose back in China either.”

Zhou Yue took a sip of wine. He didn't continue the conversation, but simply nodded slightly, leaving the topic unresolved. The lamplight illuminated the table, and the aroma of the food and the scent of wine formed an invisible net that slowly drew in during the quiet conversation.

Zhou Yue put down his chopsticks and casually waved his phone: "My brother just messaged me," he said casually, but a faint smile played on his lips, "He just got accepted into Columbia University's Financial Engineering program."

Zheng Yaotian glanced at him, and seeing the smile, Zhou Yue continued, "My mother's younger brother."

Zheng Yaotian nodded, looking thoughtful: "All I knew before was that your father only had one daughter."

“Hmm,” Zhou Yue slowly swirled the wine glass in his hand, the wine gleaming amber under the light. “My mother has always hoped that I could mentor my younger brother. She thinks that if my brother were to follow the path I’ve walked, it would be easier for him.”

Zheng Yaotian chuckled lightly, not in a hurry to reply, but simply poured him a full glass of wine: "Then I must congratulate your brother."

Zhou Yue didn't refuse and raised his glass to clink with his.

Zheng Yaotian held his wine glass and smiled slightly: "I understand, I also have a younger brother."

He said with a hint of helpless sarcasm, "My dad used to worry about everything, but now it's my turn to worry. He wants me to get involved in everything, from company succession to friends' gatherings."

As he spoke, he casually swirled the wine in his glass, but his gaze seemed to pass through the light in front of him and land on something further away. "Sometimes I feel that this is the fate of an older brother. Whether you like it or not, you have to stand in front of others and shield them from the wind and rain."

Zhou Yue held the wine glass, the light under the lamp reflecting on his profile. His brows and eyes remained calm, but in a subtle moment, it was as if he had been touched by something.

He lowered his head, took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, before speaking softly, "Yes, sometimes you have to stand at the forefront whether you like it or not."

After saying that, he smiled again, a smile tinged with self-deprecation, "However... some storms are truly unavoidable."

Zheng Yaotian raised an eyebrow, seemingly sensing another layer of meaning in his words, but did not press for details: "Then let's eat first. We can talk about things we can't stop after we finish this drink."

The crisp sound of their glasses clinking together was particularly clear in the quiet private room.

Zheng Yaotian put down his chopsticks, leaned back in his chair, and said in a calm and unhurried tone: "If you go back to China, there are actually many things you can do. Your experience on Wall Street over the past few years is enough for you to directly enter any top institution and get the best conditions."

He paused, then added casually, "But that would just make you a professional manager, working for someone else. Your opportunities, platform, and resources would all be restricted by others."

Zhou Yue didn't reply, but simply swirled the wine in his glass gently.

“It’s different here.” Zheng Yaotian smiled, but his tone was very confident. “The activity level of the domestic capital market is no less than that of yours, and there are even more opportunities in many fields. If you don’t mind, I have a few directions here that you can pursue.”

"First, investment and acquisition. We'll bring over the methods you've mastered in New York and directly lead the projects. Second, capital operations. I can give you a separate fund pool, and you can choose the targets yourself. We'll share the profits. Third, management partners. You'll lead a team and directly participate in decision-making."

He then added slowly, "Of course, if you have other ideas, you can bring them up. I'm not leaving you with only this one path."

“I’m not advising you to make a decision right away,” Zheng Yaotian added, “I just want you to know that sometimes having more options makes you more stable.”

Zhou Yue looked up at him, a glint of light flashing in his eyes for a moment before he quickly suppressed it, and a slight smile appeared on his lips: "It sounds like you've already thought of a way out for me."

“Yes,” Zheng Yaotian laughed without hesitation, “but this is a path you have to be willing to walk yourself.”

Zhou Yue chuckled softly, not in a hurry to respond, "That sounds very tempting," he said calmly.

His mother's expectations, his father's arrangements, the rhythm he was used to in New York, and the opportunity before him where he could almost freely display his skills—these thoughts intertwined and pulled at each other in Zhou Yue's mind.

Suddenly, as if touched by a detail, Xia Zhiyao's WeChat Moments appeared in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if she returned to China.

In a more familiar domestic setting, she would be perfectly at home, wearing a suit and effortlessly controlling the flow of the conversation. Would that version of her be closer to me, or... farther away?

He raised his eyes, his gaze clear but devoid of emotion: "I need to think about it."

Zheng Yaotian didn't notice anything amiss. He only saw Zhou Yue remain silent for a few seconds before speaking as if nothing was wrong: "The offer is tempting, but the other is that you have complete control over the space. Zhou Yue, what you need isn't a platform, but a stage."

Zhou Yue raised his eyes and looked at the other person. The light in his eyes flickered, as if he was weighing the future or imagining someone who was both familiar and unfamiliar.

“I know you might be conflicted.” Zheng Yaotian didn’t press him, as if he had anticipated his reaction. He raised his glass and gently clinked it with his. “I don’t need you to make a decision now. But one thing, once you’ve really thought it through, don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Zhou Yue smiled but didn't reply. He simply raised his hand to clink glasses with Zhou Yue, the aroma of the wine slowly spreading between their lips and teeth, as if temporarily sealing away the sense of propriety and probing in this moment.